the elusive presence

the elusive presence

It seems one can hear her sweet, soft voice whispering in the sighing wind through the leaves of the trees late at night.  Again, in the morning, the chirping of the birds in the yard is her greeting to the world.  I’ve caught her fragrance in the scent of the jasmine flowers growing in the arboretum.  In winter, are the falling snowflakes her tears frozen?

Lady Luck?  Laksmi?  My guardian angel?

In dreams, I have chased her through dark, misty, rain soaked deserted streets, the soft sound of her light footsteps on the pavement always just ahead of me, out of reach; the light from the street lamps once catching a bit of her long, raven black tresses.  Hoping to catch her and gaze deeply into her eyes as if that would (or could) reveal her secrets.  Once, she even giggled at my efforts.  Why does she tease me so?

When walking along and gazing over the edge of a precipitous cliff at Island in the Sky (Canyonlands, NP), on a cloudy, windy early evening in May, her presence next to me was palpable.

She has whispered in my ears during sleep.  I know this – how else to explain answers or solutions to very vexing unresolved problems, at work or home, suddenly coming to mind in the morning?

Will I ever truly see her face to face this side of death?  Why the never ending hide and seek?

When apprehensive, fearing to make a bold move or take action, she has gently nudged me, or pushed me in the back so as to say “get going and move forward”.

When an intuition, a hunch, warns me to take a different route, the intuition comes from her deep waters of wisdom.  Or the sudden (warning) impulse to stop before my hand reached for the manual garage door’s inner handle as a large black widow spider was patiently waiting nearby in a freshly spun web.

Too bad for others and myself, I failed to listen to some of her insistent warnings, while making the biggest mistakes of my life.

She first “appeared” to me in an unforgettable dream when I was a very young boy, perhaps 6 or 7 years of age.  At night, seen close by through the eerily illuminated fog in a dark forest, she was a beautiful, young woman, dressed in black with long, jet black hair and with a white flower stuck in, or growing out of, her delicate palm.

Maybe I am just a plaything or puppet that amuses her from time to time.  A trickster she is to be sure.

But, too many “coincidences” have occurred throughout all these years to deny her existence and her impact on my life.

She may be eternal.  We are such temporary beings on this earth, and I am only a passing entertainment for her.  Perhaps she dwells in all of us at a deep and unsuspected level of our psyche.  When they lock me away in the sanitarium, I know she will visit me, perhaps often.  I will not be alone and not lonely.

In the spring, when life bursts forth vibrantly in color and fragrance and sound, she smiles.  In the autumn, she frowns wistfully….. But, as they say, death always leads to new life.

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